


Like Flowers

by Gemma_Inkyboots



Series: Flowers in the Church [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alien Sex, Bees are awesome, Belly Rubs, Body Modification, Body Worship, Egg Laying, Hand Feeding, Healing, Jazz has over 100 siblings, Kintsugi, M/M, Metamorphosis, Multi, Oviposition, Robot Feels, Robot Sex, Scarring, Sterility, alternative surrogacy, fixit, happy endings, reclaiming your body through feeding kink, sort of, tiny robot babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:31:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5859826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemma_Inkyboots/pseuds/Gemma_Inkyboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Healing takes time. So it's a good thing Prowl's got plenty of questions to ask, and a Jazz who is a font of all wisdom, at least as far as this new world is concerned. Now Prowl's got a choice to make - stay or go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All right, this is the last leg of this series and we are finally getting into the worldbuilding proper and the actual laying of eggs. :D Last fic was Prowl interacting with a strange world and many strange things through a haze of pain and boxing away what he didn't want to think about - this is going to get into the meat of what some of the things breadcrumbed into the last fic actually *mean*, so hopefully this should take care of any lingering bewilderment as we go along. ^_^;;

“We should probably talk,” Prowl said quietly, and didn’t meet Jazz’s gaze.

*

After an intense, frame-shaking overload that gave Prowl a whole new appreciation for Jazz’s hands and glossa, his frame saw fit to remind him that, no matter how much better he felt, he still had healing to do. When he woke, his frame slow and heavy but his processor clearer than it had been in vorns, Jazz was still snuggled up against his side with an arm slung under Prowl’s bumper.

He never thought he could have this. Being what felt like the only sane mech in the core command _and_ the Autobot disciplinary officer for vorn after vorn of war...did not make one well-loved. It had been hard enough to believe that the little gifts were exactly that, rather than a bribe or a cruel joke - that he’d wished they were from Jazz had been a closely-guarded secret until Jazz’s hopeful smiles truly registered. Even then they had circled each other at a glacial pace, Prowl guarded and Jazz respectful - Prowl had assumed Jazz had his own reasons to be wary. It never occurred to him that perhaps Jazz had been utterly sure, and was just letting Prowl draw where the boundaries lay.

Bombshell had laughed when they had prised those secret, shining memories from his processor.

His shudder woke Jazz, the other mech startling awake with a snuffle of vents and a bleary visor - and an instinctive movement to lean over Prowl, one hand grabbing at one of the many weapons Spec Ops kept in subspace, which did more to reassure Prowl of his own safety and the here-and-now than anything other well-meant gesture could have.

“Y’all right, Prowler?” 

...admittedly a recharge-fuzzed Jazz blinking down at him was adorable enough that it was highly unlikely to be a trick of the processor.

After that one blissful overload, enough of the built-up charge and self-repair endorphins had dissipated for Prowl to find himself lingering in clarity again. He felt more awake and alert than he had in- well. Prowl hadn’t quite dared to check his chronometer yet, for various reasons - it could have been cycles or thousands of vorns since the events that he was _not going to think about,_ but much as he’d lingered in the comfortable golden haze of repairs and adoring belly-rubs, now he had too many questions to go back to sleep.

“We should probably talk,” Prowl said quietly, and didn’t meet Jazz’s gaze.

Jazz very carefully didn’t tense against him, peeking around the curve of Prowl’s bumper and seeming surprised when Prowl was the one avoiding his visor. “Sure thing, babe,” he said softly, and Prowl did what he could to brace himself.

It was hard not to be annoyed that they couldn’t walk and talk - Prowl had tended to think best when he was moving, or at least able to work through multiple processor threads at once. Under the circumstances, Jazz reluctantly agreed to very, very gingerly helped him to sit up, and even that was an effort that made his processor spin. Sitting upright apparently ruled out, Jazz shifted around and bundled up more of the soft, silky mass that half-filled the structure and braced Prowl up until he could at least see a different part of the ceiling far overhead.

Thoroughly worn out, and part of him regretting that earthshattering overload even with the nap that came after, Prowl wiggled his doorwings into his improvised backrest and self-consciously drew the sheets of fabric he’d been wrapped in back around himself. It helped that Jazz only gave him a lopsided, melty sort of smile and settled cross-legged where Prowl could see him.

“So,” Jazz said, and only long experience in leading Jazz’s debriefs let Prowl see the little hunch of his shoulders. “Where y’wanna start?”

“Perhaps with the basics,” Prowl replied slowly, remembering fuzzy conversations and things Jazz had said in between the long stretches of self-repair and recharge. “We aren’t on Cybertron, are we.”

Jazz snorted, and didn’t look the least bit sheepish. “Nope. I wasn’t gonna trust some medic I didn’t know with ol’ Ratchet gone.” He hesitated, and a tiny spark of worry flickered up through Prowl’s spark. “I know maybe a medic coulda done a better job gettin’ you all fixed up faster, but after what I heard...”

“...ah.” Prowl’s throat worked, remembering the fireball that blasted the _Lost Light_ across the sky. Spec Ops had always been wary of medics outside of those attached to each SO unit - or Ratchet, who had admittedly been a special case for everyone who had been pulled back from the Well under his hands. Without Ratchet there... 

“Yeah.” Jazz fidgeted a little, drawing Prowl’s attention back from things he couldn’t have prevented. “Thought we were better off gettin’ you a long way away from there an’ lettin’ you heal up on your own time.”

Prowl hesitated, almost wanting to ask just how long it had been, but an insistent ping caught at his processor before he spoke. His tanks were startlingly low, and without thinking he pressed a hand to his middle - his uncovered protoform was flat and loose under his hand instead of the warm, hard curve of a full tank, and a flare of something like panic lit his field as his fingers curled. Jazz hummed apologetically, visor almost guilty.

“Sorry, babe. Hang on, here...” Jazz sat up on his knees, rummaging in his subspace, and brought out one shining cube after another to pile up in his arms. Prowl eyed them hungrily, still unnerved at the low fuel levels he was registering after finally having a _surplus,_ and didn’t quite keep himself from making a needy little grab for them as Jazz shifted closer. Jazz gave him a lopsided grin, one that turned concerned as Prowl paused and stared at his own hands. “You okay, gorgeous?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Prowl said, feeling remarkably calm, all things considered. The dull ache all through his frame had just become background noise over time, something he barely registered anymore - looking at his hands properly for the first time out of his sheath of silken fabric, he could see the thin, silvery lines of assisted repair weaving his palms back together from where he’d crashed to the ground and shredded them. “If I look down, how bad is the rest of it?”

Jazz visibly winced. “Not much plating left on your shins. Kneepads are gone, hip-plating’s cracked - your, uh, ‘facing panel’s gone too. ...for a while there, I really thought we might lose y’,” he said quietly. “Your hands - that silver’s just the cosmetic stuff, surface damage, that kinda thing. Stuff your self-repair didn’t need ta be lookin’ at with all the other stuff it had ta handle. Silk for plating, honey for protoform, ‘s what my carrier used ta say.”

“I’m amazed my self-repair handled what it has already,” Prowl said absently, one hand moving to knead the loose stretch of his protoform as the other traced gingerly over his bumper. The deep gouges where Megatron had ordered bullbars installed on his new frame were almost healed, but still uneven - the broken fragments of the bars themselves were probably still lying amongst the rubble on Cybertron. Prowl shivered and Jazz inched closer, setting down the cubes he held to gently wrap his fingers around Prowl’s hand as the other settled around Prowl’s shoulders.

“‘S okay,” he said gently, and Prowl desperately wanted to believe him. “I might not be a medic, but I know a lil bit about coding - this amount of damage, your frame’ll go back to default an’ use the mass those hackers added ta rebuild what you’re short on. We got plenty of fuel right here, plenty of time, an’ nothin’ you need to worry about. There’s no hurry.”

Prowl nodded, and Jazz squeezed his hand with tender care before lifting a sunlit cube to Prowl’s lips. It helped having Jazz cuddled close, but Prowl lifted his hand from his bumper to cover Jazz’s on the cube, drinking in greedy gulps and needing to feel the stretch of his tanks as they filled to the brim. This at least was something born of his own frame and his own wants - even if the last time he’d been able to indulge to the point of pressure-pleasure and warmth had been after Praxus, before the rationing started. Prowl licked his lips between cubes, lingering over the bright amber taste, and didn’t miss the way Jazz watched his mouth as the shimmery fuel smudged over his lips and clung to his glossa.

It helped, being able to feel warmth radiating out from his tank, his self-repair immediately starting up again with the fresh infusion of rich fuel. _Ratchet would have approved,_ Prowl thought, then pressed his face against Jazz’s shoulder until the first sting of grief passed. 

“I didn’t ask,” he mumbled, optics beginning to dim as distant recharge beckoned again. “Your family - don’t they mind? If your carrier is producing all this fuel and it’s only going to me...”

Jazz chuckled softly, warm and a little sad against Prowl’s audial. “Ain’t my carrier, beautiful. Ei was Cybertronian; ei couldn’t make this, same as you couldn’t. ‘S all my family helpin’ out. They would anyway, but they wanna get to know you too. Can’t say I blame ‘em~”

“They want a queen,” Prowl muttered, a surge of unease and heavy resignation pulling him down until Jazz’s arms tightened around him.

“They want you to get better, babe, an’ if you wanna stay...ain’t just your frame an’ your smarts helpin’ out that makes people like you, gorgeous. Just you wait.”

Thoroughly bewildered, and warmed by more than just the fuel in his tanks, Prowl sank down into recharge with Jazz’s gentle hands drawing the silk back over him.

*

Gradually Prowl’s waking cycles settled into a routine. He still slept deeply and needed to refuel often, but he slowly stopped waking from recharge with his tanks so drained that he needed to fuel immediately. That didn’t stop Jazz from offering him a cube when he woke, and it didn’t stop Prowl from drinking any fuel he was offered. Part of him wanted to test just how much fuel there really was, and if Jazz’s family would keep offering it without conditions - the dreamlike safety he’d felt in Their arms while he’d been so badly damaged stayed with him, and he wasn’t sure he’d run from Their lifting him up even now, but the unseen hurts the war had left behind took longer to heal.

The first time he insisted on trying to stand was...mortifying, even with only himself and Jazz to witness it. The effort exhausted him, even with Jazz’s help, and making it to his knees made Prowl’s head spin. But he _did_ get up, even only that far, and Jazz eased him back down full of anxious reassurances and more thick, sweet fuel before recharge claimed him again. A fresh layer of silk was tucked in around him when Prowl woke, and Jazz insisted on filling his tanks to the brim; finishing the cube and watching Jazz watch him in turn, Prowl leaned forward around the tight fullness of his belly and the shifting slide of silk for a lingering, sticky-sweet kiss that left Jazz clutching at him and panting. Their exercise that cycle didn’t involve Prowl regaining his pedes, but with Jazz’s mouth sticky-sweet against his valves Prowl considered it energy well spent. When he could think again, at least.

“There is something else I need to know,” Prowl murmured, his hand stroking over Jazz’s helm as they steamed gently together. The silk they lay on transferred stray charge between them, a gentle hum that made Prowl’s doorwings and valve nodes tingle pleasantly, and he didn’t want to move. Coming down from overload didn’t exhaust him now, but his frame was heavy and languid and the weight of Jazz’s helm resting on his thigh was enough for him to consider himself pinned down. 

Jazz’s helm tilted, humming contentedly and nuzzling into Prowl’s palm. “Sure thing, gorgeous,” he mumbled lazily, his sensor horns- no, weren’t they stubby antenna? - rubbing happily either side of Prowl’s hand. “Ask away.”

_All right._ “I thought, before - you talked about my carrying eggs. Hoarding them, you said.” Both of Prowl’s valves fluttered as though in punctuation, and Prowl bit his lip; Jazz nuzzled his thigh, his vents tickling sensitive plating, and if Prowl only said the word he knew Jazz would- 

Prowl’s fingers curled against the tight bulge of his protoform, accidentally stroking the silk over metal stretched warm and taut, and Prowl moaned softly as he grasped after his scattered thoughts. “Wh-why - why haven’t you yet? I thought, before, I thought you were going to...”

“Hey, woah.” Jazz sat up for that, and Prowl couldn’t help the thin mewl of complaint or the way his calipers tightened up as Jazz’s plating brushed his legs. Jazz’s hand wrapped around his own atop Prowl’s belly, and the quick slide of silk did nothing for his concentration but it felt so good. “Babe, _Prowl,_ nobody’s doin’ one thing about eggs til you’re all repaired an’ decide you wanna. I ain’t gonna slip you a clutch without askin’, specially not when you’re all banged up still!”

“Then explain it,” Prowl gasped, his fingers tightening convulsively under Jazz’s hand. “ _Tell_ me, Jazz, or I’ll keep wanting it and not know!”

Jazz’s visor softened, though his own vents quickened at the heat Prowl was putting off. “Primus, babe,” he murmured, resting his forehelm briefly against the hand cradling Prowl’s. “Y’got no idea what you do to me...okay, all right, explainin’. Eggs. I ain’t in season right now, although frag if I’m not close just from the way you feel right now - queens carry eggs, keep ‘em safe an’ protected while they grow, then lay 'em in little honey-pods like this one. Ain’t like sparklings, you ain’t gotta bare sparks or have ‘em linked up to your systems, just - carry ‘em. Lay ‘em, when they’re ready.”

“And your family wants to use me as a queen.”

“They wanna ask you t’become a queen,” Jazz corrected, lifting his helm to meet Prowl’s gaze. “Queens - Prowler, queens are so rare. My carrier was th’last queen we had an' ei was invited to _become_ a queen, ei wasn't created one - an’ ei went offline when I was a tiny bundle a’ fuzz. ‘S been a few million years now, an’ all the youngest of us are my age, an’ no queen for new eggs and new lilbits. Our clutch had a queen - woulda been my sister, but - it happens, sometimes, a moult goes bad an’ they don’t make it...”

“I’m sorry,” Prowl murmured, his hold on Jazz’s hand tightening; Jazz shook his head gently.

“‘S okay. Was a long time ago now, an’ we lost my carrier even longer ago’n that. ...reckon you’da liked each other,” he said with a sudden grin. “Ei left Cybertron, oh, two Golden Ages ago - got courted by my progenitors and didn’t wanna leave again. Ei agreed ta become a queen an’ soaked in that honey-fuel y’like so much, ‘til ei could take a whole clutch of eggs in eir gestation chamber - ‘s what you’d do if y’wanted ta become a queen, brace up for holdin’ a bellyful of lils. ...first Cybertronian language I ever learned was Primal Vernacular - took me forever ta figure out why people were lookin’ at me funny when I got there.”

Prowl’s indrawn vent of cooler air brought sense in with it, though the charge tickling his sensors didn’t dissipate. “Your carrier was an ancient?”

“Guess so,” Jazz shrugged. “Ei got here when my ‘genitors were maybe my age, an’ our kind live a long, long time. I’m only on my first moult, an’ I’m one a’the babies of the family.”

“...wait,” Prowl managed, his processor beginning to fragment. “Does that mean all of your family is techno-organic? ...how do your family produce the fuel?”

“Well...fuel’s easy enough. We got two suns here - whole lotta solar power that gets converted through plating an’ refined internally. ...I guess we just evolved that way. Gimme a chance ta get out topside again an’ I’ll show you, but it’s gotta be _our_ suns. Wish it woulda worked on Earth, but I guess the radiation’s different.”

Prowl nodded without really taking all of the information in fully. An awful thought had occurred to him that dispelled any lingering urge to ‘face and Jazz seemed to feel it in his field, glancing up quizzically at Prowl’s expression.

“When your carrier died,” Prowl said hesitantly, and Jazz immediately began shaking his head.

“Weren’t from anythin’ but extreme old age, Prowler, I swear you w-”

“Not that!” Prowl burst out. “If you’re techno-organic - Jazz, _how many_ of your family did ei outlive?” _You promised you wouldn’t leave me again!_

Jazz was staring at him, visor overbright and lips parted. “Oh, babe,” he managed, then leaned in to wrap his arms around Prowl without a second thought. Prowl clung to him, fierce and grasping, as though he could pull _Jazz_ down and keep him safe inside his chamber. Jazz crooned to him, soft and soothing, but Prowl refused to be comforted without a straight answer. He’d lost too much to the war to lose Jazz to what looked very much like honest peace.

“Okay,” Jazz said firmly. “First up, I spent four million years as an embarrassingly adorable larva-bit, so if you wanna stay an’ be all queenly you’d better like babies. I moulted after that an’ I ain’t due for my next one for another few million years, an’ I got at least four more moults ‘til I even get classified as a real-proper grownup, so you’re gonna be stuck with me a long, long time, gorgeous. Don’t even think ‘bout it.”

“Okay,” Prowl choked out in return, and pulled Jazz in close.

*

After an emotionally-draining conversation Prowl had clung to Jazz until his tanks had begun to ping at him again, and then he’d fallen into recharge with Jazz wrapped around him like a second layer of silk. He’d started apologising in a bleary sort of way the moment he woke, but Jazz only told him firmly not to worry, seriously, not about anything, and offered him another cube.

Any more explanations, Prowl had decided, could wait until after he’d made his attempt at using his joints again for the cycle. It took a lot of rocking, stretching and grabbing for Jazz’s arm, but after making it to his knees, the next time he tried to stand Prowl finally made it to his pedes. Leaning heavily on Jazz, Prowl planned to make slow circuits of the smooth, regular sleeping hollow they inhabited, but first he wanted to make it from one side to the other. With Jazz tucked into his side, one arm under his bumper and the other bracing Prowl’s doorwings, Prowl made it one careful, unsteady step at a time to the rim of their hollow, leaned heavily against the edge, and looked out for the first time.

Their chamber-sized hexagon was in fact one of many, a bank of pockets curving around the walls of a chamber that could have fitted comfortably into the Iacon Autobot HQ. The dim, comfortable light came filtering in through somewhere high overhead, though whether it was through a natural aperture or fitted lights Prowl couldn’t tell. Jazz was grinning when Prowl glanced wide-opticed back at him, his visor sparkling and rocking back and forth on his pedes. “Cool, huh?” he said cheerily, and laughed out loud when Prowl gaped.

“That - hardly describes - Where _are_ we?”

Jazz spread his arms, leaning side-on to the rim of the chamber so that the gesture could encompass the entire space. “This? This is Home. Planet don’t have no other name than that.”

After that first look, Prowl pushed his frame every waking cycle until he could explore properly. Circuits of the softly-padded hollow built up until Jazz finally supported him out of it, helping him up onto the narrow, regular pathways between them, rambling in slowly-widening circuits of their own hollow until, at last, Prowl stood on the packed matter of the chamber floor. The ceiling stretched away high overhead, worn-smooth tunnels stretched out in a multitude of directions, and one of Jazz’s genitors was moving slowly and delicately across the wall of hexagons far away.

“This is outstanding,” he murmured, and Jazz beamed. “...I do have one further question.”

“Go for it babe,” Jazz grinned, plating fluffing up with pride. Prowl tilted his helm, doorwings spreading wider, hearing again the soft, rising hum that had been in the background of his world ever since waking here.

“Where is everyone else?”

Jazz’s grin slipped slightly at that, from surprise into a sheepish sort of resignation. “Caught that, huh.”

“This _is_ a very large home for a very small group, otherwise. And you mentioned a - clutch that you were part of, more than once.”

“Eh-heh. Yeah. Uh - well, they’re all around here, actually. I just told ‘em if they pestered you then you’d wanna go home, so...” Jazz wilted slightly at Prowl’s raised optic ridge, even his sensor-antenna twitching, and spread his hands. “Okay, okay, there’s a hundred of ‘em all ‘round my moult-age an’ I know you ain’t so good with crowds when you’re hurtin’. I didn’t wanna overwhelm y’, or spook y’before you were well enough t’explain things, or- anythin’.”

Prowl blinked. “Ah. Well. ...I suppose that’s understandable. .....when you say ‘here’...”

“Y’hear that hum? Means they’re hangin’ around hopin’ I’m gonna introduce y’.”

“I...see.”

Jazz tilted his help hopefully. “Y’wanna meet one or two, or save it for later? ...just to warn, we’re all kinda funny-lookin’. Take my armour off, I don’t look totally Cybertronian either.”

“...really?” Prowl blinked again, considered the state of his fuel levels, made a decision. “I’d like to see that.”

*

Jazz barely managed to wait until they were settled back into their hollow to begin removing bits of his armour. Prowl had graduated from lying prone to sitting as he fuelled, and found his fingers working restlessly around the cube as Jazz turned the dismantling of his Cybertronian armour into a display. The blocky front band of his bumper came away entirely, was spun between Jazz’s clever hands and set aside; the thick curved overlay unhooked from what looked like sensory relays into Jazz’s real frame, and Prowl watched in fascination. Jazz shrugged, briefly and absurdly reminding Prowl of a human shrugging off a heavy coat, and his doors lifted and separated away from his backplate, fluttering and stretching wide before settling back again.

That done, Jazz ran his hands luxuriously over his bared chest - as glossy-white as his bumper and as gently curved, but fitting closer to his substructure and missing the clear signs of an Earth altmode - and down his belly, thoroughly distracting Prowl until Jazz bent and ran his hands down one leg and over his pede.

Jazz’s pede segmented, two spreading claw-like sections popping out and framing a wider toe-piece, and Prowl didn’t stifle a yelp in time. “Primus - _warn_ me, Jazz!”

“Hee! Sorry, babe, I just - hee!” Jazz giggled, leaning back and wiggling his newly-exposed toes at Prowl, and all Prowl could do was hide his expression in the hand that wasn’t already occupied with a cube and stifle a snicker.

*

“So,” Prowl said later, as they curled together on the silk lining of their hollow. “Based on - the events of my last heat - I think I’m right in assuming you can make a similar fabric to this.”

“Sure can, babe. Want me to tuck you in?”

“Maybe,” Prowl said archly, ignoring Jazz’s delighted opticridge waggling - and the wiggling of his antenna, a segment or two longer and more expressive after the rest of his dramatic de-plating. “And I want to see how you make fuel.”

“Sure thing, gorgeous,” Jazz promised, his voice deepening to a rich hum. “You’re gonna like how I pass it on, too.”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hmh. There’s a lil nozzle just inside m’mouth, so if y’wanna get fresh fuel straight from the source~”

“....I suppose I’d better start practising,” Prowl finished, and leaned in for a kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl has made his decision. Now he gets to start as he means to go on.
> 
> Jazz approves so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. Herein lies the porn! ...well, some of it. I caved; there will be a third chapter-slash-epilogue.
> 
> Herein: oviposition, body worship, oral...kind of an orgy? More like many people focussed on Prowl and adoring the heck out of him; internal modifications and magic healing honey.

Prowl stood, unsupported on his own two pedes, and gazed out on the planet willing to adopt him as its own. Before him spread a system of low, rippling hills that rolled out to the horizon, dappled with a multitude of crystalline flowers; overhead, a major and a minor star that made the plating of distant busy fliers sparkle as they hummed industriously through the sky. Behind him, Jazz stood at the worn-smooth mouth of the tunnel system that housed his family, waiting for his decision.

“I do like little ones,” Prowl said aloud, and felt the shift through his doorwings as Jazz tilted his head enquiringly. “Before the war started - I didn’t want to get involved. I thought I would leave Cybertron with my- my partner at the time, find somewhere peaceful, keep living our lives and eventually...” His doors gestured expressively; his hands stayed by his sides. “Either he would carry, or I would. I wanted to at least once. After Praxus...that wasn’t an option anymore.”

He heard the little invent Jazz made behind him, but didn’t turn. This was important - this had warped his world, and may still ruin anything this planet and its people could offer him. “I can’t carry sparklings,” Prowl said bluntly, his hands slowly curling into fists as they began to shake. “I may have been able to before Praxus, but after the relief effort any chance I had of a viable carry was impossible. Regardless of how miraculous the fuel here is, I doubt it would be able to repair that.”

Soft footfalls sounded behind him; his doors barely twitched as Jazz came up behind him and gently curled his hands around Prowl’s upper arms. They had worked out early on that touching the nape of Prowl’s neck was...very, very bad, but Jazz had always been good at knowing when walking too quietly would end poorly. This was only one step away from a hug, and Prowl appreciated the extra space as much as the gesture.

“Think I might’ve confused the issue some without meanin’ to,” Jazz said quietly, his thumbs smoothing over Prowl’s silver-lined plating. “When I called our last queen ‘carrier’ - that’s what ei wanted us littles to call eir, so we did. Ei liked tellin’ us bits an’ pieces about Cybertron, so... You carryin’ wouldn’t be like carryin’ a sparkling. Y’won’t need the same systems, just - uh, well, somewhere for the eggs t’go, if I’m gonna be honest with y’.”

Of all things, that made a snort of sharp laughter escape Prowl’s vocaliser. “Oh, well then. ...I don’t want to ruin them, Jazz. Even if all I do is - is house them, what if that does something to them?”

“Prowler. Babe. It _won’t._ ” Jazz ran his hand lightly down Prowl’s arm, twined his fingers through Prowl’s and brought it up to press a kiss against Prowl’s palm. “If y’don’t wanna do this, all you gotta do is say-”

“I do,” Prowl interrupted, with an intensity that made Jazz pause. “Jazz, I’ve wanted this since before I knew what those packets in my chamber keeping me fuelled through my heat were. I want you to stuff me so full of eggs I can barely _move_ , have a pack of little ones causing havoc everywhere we look, and do it all over again. I _want_ this. But I won’t, I _can’t,_ if there’s any chance I could hurt them. I won’t.”

There was a brief pause, then Jazz’s helm rested against his in a gentle nuzzle. “How’re you so amazing,” Jazz murmured, and Prowl’s doors twitched up. “Babe, you’re safe t’be carryin’ little squishy delicate humans around in y’r altmode, right up close t’your insides. We’re tougher’n them, and besides - my carrier was out in space doin’ who-knows-what before ei started lookin’ after us, and we all turned out fine. There’s worse things in space, y’know.”

“...I know. I know...” Prowl sighed out through every vent, let his doors fall slack and leaned into Jazz’s solid frame. “I think I needed to hear it, though. Thank you.”

“Any time, gorgeous.” Jazz leaned in stretched up to press a kiss to Prowl’s chevron. “Just you wait, it’ll be fine. You’re gonna be so beautiful, all full an’ spoiled rotten an’ not lifting one single finger- ah-ah, I mean it. Y’already got my sibs fallin’ all over themselves to fetch an’ carry, bring you honey, rub your pedes, settle the eggies into their honey-hollows when y’do lay ‘em~”

“You are terrible and your siblings are terrible,” Prowl growled, and couldn’t hide the way heat ran through his system and his valve nodes swelled at the words. Jazz only grinned and tugged at Prowl’s hand.

“C’mon. We’re gonna let people know an’ soak y’in honey an’ get y’all riled up an’ ready. This is gonna be the best part.”

Prowl gave Jazz a smile, warm and his optics glittering. “I’m ready.”

*

The walk back through the tunnel was - different. The ever-present hum was deeper, many-layered, thrumming with an undercurrent of excitement; Prowl looked around, doorwings twitching, seeing and feeling the movement of bodies where he’d not been able to find anything before.

“‘S okay,” Jazz murmured softly, still grinning from audial to audial and almost swaggering alongside Prowl. “‘S just my sibs. You okay if they peek? Promise they won’t rush you.”

“No time like the present, I suppose,” Prowl replied, his own curiousity coming to the fore once again. And how else was he supposed to understand what his own future family would look like if he didn’t even see the other mechs sharing their frametypes?

And there was enough variety here to class them as different frametypes entirely. Jazz sang out a cheery string of hummed notes, and one after another and in syncopated groups helms started to poke out of hollows, frames peered out of tunnels and optic bands and visors blinked online. Prowl looked around in amazement - some of Jazz’s siblings looked almost Cybertronian, bipedal and with glossy plating like his own, with antenna or without and some with door-like wings that probably really could carry them; others were closer to the larger genitors moving serenely from one hollow to another further away, at least a weight class or two larger with segmented legs and glistening wings, and still others were larger again and looked like they would grow to the same size of Jazz’s creators, in time.

“So,” Jazz murmured, an arm around Prowl’s waist and squeezing his hip gently. “What do you think?”

Prowl cast his gaze over the faces peering out at him; one of Them who looked very like Jazz grinned cheekily, then waggled his antenna flirtily at him. “...well, I can certainly see the family resemblance,” Prowl replied dryly, and felt Jazz’s snicker as he was squidged closer. 

“There’s always been a mix of us in every clutch, so - still wanna?”

“Jazz.” Prowl turned and met Jazz’s visor squarely, doorwings flaring authoritively higher. “As I understand it, I’m going to be able to carry little ones after vorn of thinking I would never be able to even act as a surrogate parent for someone else. If I really don’t want to do this again after carrying- After protecting _your eggs,_ I promise you I will _tell_ you, but right now you would need to drag me away to stop me from hoarding eggs from every single one of your family, no matter what their frame looked like. Do we understand each other?”

A ringing silence answered him. Jazz’s jaw had dropped, antenna quivering and his fans clicker-clacking uselessly before his vents burst into life and poured out heat - an answering blast of hot air buffeted Prowl from all directions, and he startled as he turned. Every single visor and optic band within hearing range was fixed on him, something awed and abruptly, deeply impressed in their expressions.

“What did I say?” Prowl murmured under his breath, optics rather wide, and only twitched his doorwings as Jazz coughed static from his vocaliser.

“Fraggin’ pits, babe,” Jazz croaked. “You really got no clue how amazin’ you are.”

Prowl blinked, glancing around again, and his optics fell again on the Cybertronian-like sibling that had reminded him of Jazz; the mech jerked as Prowl’s gaze found him, antenna standing straight up on end, then bowed almost to the floor in a style older than Prowl himself.

“My queen,” he hummed, and Prowl felt it in his struts as the entire hive echoed the words. _My queen._

*

Prowl floated. The light coming from overhead was a distant, untroubled constant, just strong enough to make the rich amber surrounding and supporting him glow deep and bright; he hung suspended, mouth part-open and his plating loose to let the sweetness soak in. Shadows crossed the light sometimes; it warmed him, sent a tingle of dreamy appreciation through his systems, that someone was checking on and caring for him. There was nothing else he needed - he was so comfortable, and he didn't need to move at all, just needed to let his scuffed and dinted plating relax for the tingling honey to reach every part of him. He didn't need to worry - everything was as it should be.

Gradually the prickling-sweet sensation of repair began to focus, turning inward from strengthening his shored-up and lightened plating to seep into his protoform and through to his inner workings. Prowl hummed softly and listened as it vibrated through the sleepy warmth, half-awake, and wriggled a little uncomfortably as the sensation of old wounds sealing shut itched at the back of his neck. That wasn't something he wanted to think about, and the itchy feeling seemed to work deeper into his neck and up through his processor as though to distract him. It felt like being scrubbed clean from the inside, like removing every last trace of prying hands and the grubby pain of being controlled, like every wire and every circuit was being limned in gold. It felt like being protected, and Prowl sighed in relief.

The itch-tingle kept moving, ghosted lightly over his optics, sealing tiny fractures and soothing the last of the stress-aches he'd carried since before the war began; the tickling all through his audials made him thrash and squirm in protest, but something deep inside one audial _popped_ and sealed and as the itching eased, it became a fraction easier to work out which way gravity was coaxing him. _Oh._

The burst of sensation through his helm had made him wriggle, and it also distracted him from the sweetness working deeper into his frame. His plating was whole, loose and relaxed, and the bared protoform over his belly was an easy conduit to reach more - scarred tensors relaxed, burned rotator cuffs regained mass from any armour that was still thicker or heavier than his earlier, unaltered specs required, and Prowl let out a soft, humming moan as his frame reverted.

His valve nodes throbbed, an almost distant sensation as the itch of his frame healing tingled right down to the struts. As his attention gradually shifted downwards, Prowl moved slowly and dreamily through the thick jelly to rest a hand against his bare protoform. It felt good - all of him felt good, even his circuitry humming with lazy satisfaction - but as the scrubbed-clean sensation moved through him, began to spiral down and in to reach his tanks and gestation chamber, he felt so _empty._

Prowl opened his mouth, swallowing down the honey that surrounded him, rubbed his glossa against the roof of his mouth as the sweetness burst and tickled at his sensors. He could drink the honey-pool dry if he wanted, could swallow it down until his tank ached and he couldn't move for the stretch of it, could ask Jazz to rub every single node around and between his valves until he'd overloaded through enough fuel to drink more down again...

His valves rippled, honey pressing in and out over his nodes. Prowl arched, the sunlight-fuel stroking its way inside him and teasing through the tiny opening of his gestation chamber, trickling inside and coaxing him open one micron at a time. The tingling buzz was even more intense there, washing through him until it felt like a small star was powering him from the inside; his back arched and his doorwings flared, stretching every linkage, and as Prowl ran his hands down the curve of his belly he _felt_ the thrum of his systems kicking into gear. He writhed, valves working against the motion of the fuel filling his chamber, in and out and _in_ as it worked on who knew what old damage; his valve nodes throbbed, charge building and conducted easily through the thick honey, and Prowl hung suspended in building pleasure as his frame changed.

*

The waiting mecha all but snapped to attention when the smooth surface of the pool finally broke. Prowl rose from the hollow with honey-fuel streaming from his frame, sparkles of amber light trickling from his fingers and raining from his doors; he raised his helm, optics unerringly seeking out Jazz’s slack-jawed expression, and gave him a smile that had Jazz looking like someone had just stunned him.

The silver threads that had knitted Prowl’s damaged armour together _glowed_ in the faint light, rich and polished; the clunky forced additions to his armour were gone, leaving behind a sleek pursuit frame that carried no hint of any old Earth altmode. His hips were broader, his legs thicker and stronger to bear him up when he grew heavier, and as Prowl held his arms out to Jazz and glimmered with the honey still dripping from his frame, Prowl _hummed._

Jazz scrambled to meet him, clumsy and overjoyed in his haste, and Prowl pulled him up into a demanding kiss that tasted like sweetness and victory.

"I don't want your glossa this time, Jazz," Prowl hummed, and Jazz's spark thumped in double-time as his partner managed to overlay the words with a buzzing croon that was positively obscene. "...well. Not just your glossa."

"No problem," Jazz gasped, and almost went to his knees then and there. Prowl smirked, then looked around as though noticing their audience for the first time; his doorwings flickered wider, vibrating lightly instead of fluttering, and at least one of Jazz's siblings whimpered as they crowded around him. Jazz was barely holding back from whimpering himself. "Oh frag, Prowl, _please._ You don’t even know how you smell right now..."

Prowl looked around. Jazz trembled, one arm wrapping around his abdomen as though to keep himself grounded, his visor blown wide and locked onto Prowl’s face; the others were following his every motion with antenna and optical units alike. Testing, he spread his wings a little wider and shifted as the drying fuel caught the dim light, and there was a collective puff of heat from every vent around him. _Well._ Anticipation coiled warm and sweet in his chamber, valves still dripping honey and his nodes swollen with unspent charge that flickered lightening as he moved. He _wanted,_ and for the first time in a long time there was no reason not to indulge.

*

Jazz led him back to their hollow, unsteady on his pedes and glancing back at Prowl all the way as though afraid he might disappear, as though Prowl might change his mind or disappear on the way. Prowl took his time, learning his new shifted balance and stepping carefully, leaving sticky prints on the floor - when they reached it Prowl was trembling himself, arousal snapping from node to node and a slickness that wasn't the honey jelly streaking his flushed array. He dimly realised that their audience hadn't quite left them behind, but it didn't seem as important as it once might have - he knew without questioning that they would back up when he said to, but for the moment...

"It would be a shame to waste this," he said aloud, holding out a hand and turning it palm-up to study the tacky amber fuel clinging to his plating. Jazz was there in a moment, visor pleading, and Prowl reached out to run a thumb over Jazz's lips - Jazz moaned and closed his mouth gently around Prowl's thumb and sucked, glossa rubbing over the sticky-sweetness to the glossy plating underneath. Prowl shuddered, optics falling offline; his doorwings flickered, well aware of the mechs behind him.

“I want your mouths, if you’d like to,” he said loudly enough to be heard, and almost thought that the vents of every mech in the place had stopped. Jazz watched him with darkened visor, field crackling with arousal and pride as Prowl’s hand curved around his face. “Anywhere but my valves.”

The mech who had bowed to him was first, cradling Prowl’s other hand between his as though Prowl were something infinitely precious, running a long, thin glossa over Prowl’s fingers and palm to his wrist. His visor was questioning as he lifted his head, and Prowl gravely nodded his approval. Jazz grinned around his own mouthful of Prowl’s fingers and hummed; the other mech smirked back, and drew Prowl’s fingers into his mouth to taste him. Prowl’s first overload came standing on the pathway between hollows, stroked and tasted until his plating gleamed in his own colours and his legs wobbled, the lubricants painting his thighs lapped up like the best thing his partners had tasted in vorn.

“Show me,” Prowl thrummed, when the aftershocks had turned to something that made him want to sway his hips, point Jazz exactly where he wanted his clever hands and mouth and array to go. "I want to see your array, Jazz."

The mech whimpered, his visor so bright it reflected on Prowl's plating, and released his panel. A sleek, unadorned spike pressurised first, low on Jazz's pelvic cradle, but Prowl's gaze fixed on the unfurling length above it - thicker, darker, rough-looking and with a second flexible length emerging topped with fronds...oh, Prowl remembered those. A hum and a gesture and Prowl regained his balance, touching the faces and forelimbs of those who had held him up and pressing his chevron to their forehelms in appreciation. Jazz was his focus this time, but he would have plenty of time later to explore. For now...

He reached out, and Jazz wobbled down into the hollow with him hand in hand. They fell to the silks together, the sounds of unsteadily-retreating pedes fading from their awareness, and Prowl straddled Jazz and pinned him there. “I want you,” he panted, and Jazz stared up at him as though Prowl were the sun. “Either valve, I don’t care.”

“Yes, my queen,” Jazz breathed, and reached up to stroke his fingers between Prowl’s soaked valve lips; Prowl groaned and tried to grind down against his palm, but Jazz only stroked and teased until Prowl thought he would go mad with it. Finally, _finally_ Prowl growled and squeezed his valve warningly tight around Jazz’s fingers, then let out a low, shuddering cry as the glorious round head of Jazz’s true-array pressed against him. He sank down, slick and swollen with need, and didn’t stop until he could grind down against the wonderful roughness of Jazz’s sheath and rub his valve nodes against Jazz’s plating - oh, and his beautiful clever fingers, oh Jazz, oh _yes._

Prowl overloaded hard from finally being filled, another, smaller aftershock tightening his front valve’s rim around Jazz's sheath; Jazz's wicked, adoring hands and mouth against nubs and throat urged him on to another, powerful enough to make him shake. Jazz's fronds against the opening of his chamber made him frantic, sitting back and rocking against Jazz's plating, sobbing with need and trying to rub his hands against his belly where they were opening him wide. It both took too long and not long enough at all for the head of Jazz's array to unlock and spread his entrance ready for the eggs, and Prowl trembled helplessly as the first - firmer, _warmer_ than the long-ago bursts of solid fuel had been - moved inexorably up inside him. The stretch as it pushed into his chamber triggered another overload, one that kept coming and coming as a second, third, fourth egg pushed into his chamber. By the time it ended he was gasping for cool air, his plating shimmering with heat, Jazz's hands kneading at his hips and Jazz's broken voice crying out his name and babbling adoration.

“ _Jazz,_ ” Prowl sighed contentedly, swaying gently in place; Jazz convulsed, and one last egg pushed into Prowl's chamber, warm and so full...

Jazz reached up with a shaky hand, rested it against the swell of Prowl's belly, heavy and stretched into a solid curve banded in silver that promised plenty of room for the nestled eggs to grow. Prowl's valve rippled around him, grasping at his array, and Jazz blew out heat from every vent he had in an unsteady laugh. "I reckon you're gonna be the death of me, gorgeous, but _what_ a way to go."


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four short scenes of Prowl's first carrying - how to handle berth rest, how to care for your queen, how to keep calm in a crisis and how to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and there you have it. Thank you so much to everyone who's read through this sudden unexpected thing, left kudos and left comments - I wasn't planning to expand this as far as I did, but I'm glad the muse stuck around! There won't be any more fics for this series, but if a drabble ever pokes its head above the parapet it will be added in. Enjoy!

One loophole about berth rest, Prowl thought just a little smugly, was that so long as you could say you were _resting_ you didn’t necessarily have to be in a berth to do it. He stretched luxuriously, resettling himself comfortably, and looked contentedly out over fields of flowers from his designated nurse’s arms.

As the cluster of eggs he hoarded in his chamber had grown, slow but steady and stretching the reinforced protoform of his belly out to a fullness he'd never dreamed of, it had become more and more cumbersome to get about. Prowl had thought Jazz was teasing when he’d said that his siblings were more than eager to fetch and carry, but when he’d simply grown too big and too heavy to do more than waddle along hanging onto the wall of their hollow and having someone to lean on was no longer enough, a multitude of offers had come flying his way to act as bearers and transport and who knew what else. Prowl had cautiously accepted, with a strong caveat on explaining just what that entailed before agreeing to anything, then promptly found himself with a line of eager helpers offering to sweep him off his pedes and carry him about, or lift him onto the backs of those able to fly if he wanted to get some fresh air, or or...

Jazz had cackled at the expression on Prowl's face, but he had at least gone about dissuading those hopeful volunteers who honestly wouldn't have been able to lift Prowl even then.

It also did Prowl's ego good to have a line of mechs desperate to help the eggs grow stronger, and that the accepted method to do so was by filling his mouth and tanks to overflowing with honey fuel and then moving on to as many overloads as he could stand was...well. Some cycles Prowl didn't know quite what to make of such an outpouring of admiration, but those were the days when he insisted Jazz be the first in everything. That much was generally accepted regardless, but sometimes Prowl needed the reassurance of Jazz's hands and mouth and loving field against his before he could relax into someone else offering to touch him.

A querying hum vibrated through Prowl's frame and he purred reassuringly, reaching out to run his hand over glossy plating. He was still learning how to convey precise ideas in the thrumming language that was Jazz's first of many, but the vocalisations for _safe-content-comfortable_ were ones he'd become familiar very quickly. Languages weren't his strong suit, but using his frame to convey emotion was second-nature to a Praxian, and some of that carried over. The largest of Jazz's siblings didn't have the same kinds of mouthparts as Prowl or their more Cybertronian-like sibs, but they were patient and glad to teach him how to speak clearly - and it was easy enough to pass on _I'm happy here, and I would like to keep being cuddled and petted in the sunshine, please._

The suns were warm, the flowers whispered in crystalline tones that sounded more and more like home, and Prowl sighed contentedly as he snuggled into protective arms. _Perfect._

*

Prowl wailed, clawing his way towards climax as Jazz teased every swollen valve node and another hot mouth nibbled along the edge of his doorwing, delicate fingertips stroking over the hinge. It had taken a long time and a lot of careful manoeuvering until Prowl felt safe with someone that close to his neck, but oh dear Primus-

A thin glossa ran along the line of pinprick-nibbles sparking along his doorwing, Jazz ran his glossa up along one plump, wet valve lip and Prowl overloaded _hard,_ both hands rubbing with desperate urgency at his belly through the silk draped over him. One overload wasn't enough, not after all the play and teasing he'd been subjected to, and he needed-!

A thigh nuzzled between his, smooth and slick from his dripping secondary valve, and Jazz shifted easily to let his sib rock between Prowl's legs as he coaxed every bit of charge out of Prowl's foremost nub. Jazz's fingers ran around the rim of his front valve, puffed and heavy with lubricant, and Prowl whined as his hips rolled in too many directions for coherency. 

"You're beautiful," a thrumming voice murmured in his audial, and Prowl's optics stuttered offline. "You're so beautiful, so _full_ \- can we - may we feed you?"

 _"Please,"_ Prowl moaned, reaching for the voice and latching onto the offered proboscis as he overloaded to the taste of honey. 

*

"I can't - I can't, Jazz, I _can't-_ "

"Easy, babe," Jazz soothed, hands open and offered slowly; Prowl caught up one of the clever hands he adored in both of his, clutching tight as his body bore down. "'S all right, you're all right, 's all goin' like it should..."

"No," Prowl sobbed, hiding his face against Jazz's hand. "No, it's not safe, they're _safe_ in me, they'll be safe if I-"

Jazz glanced helplessly up at his genitors, the older family members understanding a little of Prowl's sudden panic. The oldest amongst them settled alongside their hollow, thrumming low and gentle, and Prowl reached up with a choked-off sound that made Jazz’s spark ache to hear. One segmented foreleg, dusty with age, crooked into the padded nest of silk that Prowl had pulled in around himself and pressed gently against Prowl’s chest and belly, feeling another stop-start contraction squeeze down. 

_Talk to him,_ one of Jazz’s genitors buzzed rather sharply, and Jazz gulped.

"I promise, babe," he said softly, as gently as he could over his own panic. "Nothing's gonna hurt 'em, nothing's gonna happen. You're gonna lay 'em an' they'll snuggle down in the honey same as you did, remember? All sweet and warm, an' when they're done they'll hatch and you'll get to meet 'em and play with 'em and spoil 'em rotten..."

Prowl shuddered against his genitor's protective forelimb, but the rasp of his vents seemed less frantic. Jazz reached to wrap both his hands around Prowl's free one, slowly enough not to startle him. "C'mon, beautiful," he coaxed. "How're you gonna meet your buglets if you don't let 'em hatch?"

There was quiet for a moment, Prowl's fans clicking anxiously, then a tiny huff reached Jazz's audials. "Buglets?" came a small voice, and Jazz's own winglets drooped in relief.

"Well, what else d'you call baby bugs?" he asked, and his spark brightened when Prowl chuckled weakly. "Honey-sweet, bugbit, lillun, hey-don't-you-dare-jump-off-that-I-mean-it..."

Prowl's vents were hitching with laughter by then, and was caught entirely by surprise when his body relaxed enough that the first egg began to slip free. He yelped, his chamber fluttering wildly and stirring the eggs inside him, but his jolt of surprise and clamping valves sent the egg through the tight clench of his chamber entrance, and once it had begun the others were close behind. The sudden release sent a flood of sparks through his sensors, lubricant already slicking both valves, and while Jazz didn't let go of Prowl's hands he could crane over the bulge of Prowl's rippling belly and watch as the first egg finally popped free in a gush of sticky fluids. His genitors deftly slid the egg from where it nestled between Prowl's thighs, the eldest shifting slightly so there was space to slip the frame-warm little bundle between Prowl's chest and Jazz's genitor's foreleg. 

Prowl's optics sheened over, tears blinking free even as the second egg moved down his secondary valve; one shaking hand rested so very lightly against the cooling curve of the egg, and Jazz couldn't stop grinning even as his own visor grew blurry.

"Hello," Prowl whispered. "Hello, sweetest. We're all going to look after you."

*

"Be careful!" Prowl called over, frowning - one of his youngest clutch seemed bound and determined to start a circus troupe, and while he had no objections to the idea in _principle,_ standing on your siblings without warning them first was only going to end in tears. Sure enough, scant clicks later a sobbing bundle of baby-soft fuzz and oversized pedes came toddling up to him, burrowing into the curve of his belly and buzzing about the unfairness of the world.

"I know, I know," he hummed, stroking a hand over tiny stubby antenna. "But you shouldn't try to clamber on people without asking first. You might hurt them, and they won't know what you're doing, so they'll only startle or push you off. If you ask, they might _like_ to play that game _with_ you."

One tiny sniffle and pout at a time, his littlest resigned themselves to the idea, and went clicking and buzzing back to their siblings. This time, the buglet pyramid got as far as clambering on each other before dissolving into wiggling and giggles, and Prowl smiled in satisfaction as they were thoroughly distracted by this new thing.

"So," a beloved voice said as Jazz settled down beside him. "Any thoughts on headin' off to travel th'galaxy with the tumblin' circus over there?"

Prowl lifted his head, searched the sky. Cybertron was out there somewhere, stumbling from one crisis to another with no-one to make the hated decisions, to speak plainly when a mission was hopeless, to offer the cruel odds of survival and consequence. 

"No," he said firmly, and leaned back into Jazz's lap. "Not for anything in the galaxy. I'm more than happy staying right here."

Jazz chuckled, his hands settling on Prowl's doorwings and beginning to rub. "Sounds good to me, beautiful."

**Author's Note:**

> ...and, with most of the world down and set, next comes the porn. :D
> 
> Note for wider context: At this point, Prowl and everyone else on Cybertron didn't know the _Lost Light_ had survived the explosion when it launched, so Prowl thinks everyone aboard died. Some he misses more than others.


End file.
